


Backbite

by surveycorpsjean



Category: GOT7
Genre: Biting, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9111946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: Mark's teeth are just way too pretty, okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ,,,All i can say is,,, dont like dont read lmao,,, this is just a guilty pleasure please excuse me
> 
> i cant believe im seeing them in january abasdfsdg

Believe it or not, Jackson likes to be careful with his words.

He’s blessed for so, so many things. For a bed to sleep in, for the ability to make music. To dance with his best friends, to sing with them on car rides and in front of thousands of kindhearted fans. He wouldn’t say he’s miserable, no, never. Tough hours, tired limbs and all, he lovesit.

But Jackson is  _suffering._  There’s no other word, no other synonym. He’s suffering a long, slow, agonizing death at the hands of Mark Tuan. 

It’s been a few months since they became, uh, whatever they are.  _Them._ Two months exactly, since they curled up on the foot of the couch at two in the morning, unable to sleep from the adrenaline of constant traveling and nonstop practice. Two months, since Jackson took Mark’s hand like it was normal – since Mark had cradled Jackson’s cheek in his hand, and kissed him like Jackson was something precious.

It’s GOT7’s well-kept secret. It’s not their first, and not their last, and not exactly a surprise. As a unit, they’re closer than close, closer than family. No biggie.

So Mark sleeps in Jackson’s bed now, and Jaebum ignores their insistent giggling that lasts into the late hours.

All that is good and fine, Jackson figures. He doesn’t mind the innocence in it all – he likes their strange relationship that exists without societal expectations. Heads on shoulders, hands around waists.

But he’s suffering.

Jackson has issues. Maybe two or three. Everyone’s got ‘em.

It’s another fanmeet, standing up on stage, sweat slicked down his back, face illuminated by thousands of glowsticks. All their little birds, waving their hands and yelling their support.

Still, Jackson’s eye falls to their oldest, his arm around Youngjae, smiling bright and proud.

It makes something  _rough_ twist in Jackson’s gut. Something solid and hard, flip flopping like a tossed coin. He feels warmer than warm, sweaty and sticky.

Sweat drips down Mark’s temple, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, still smiling so gorgeously. When he meets Jackson’s eye , he bites his bottom lip in that bad habit of his, eyes squinting a little with his smile.

And that’s when Jackson knows.

 

* * *

 

It’s not really a fixation. An obsession, maybe? More like a fascination.

Actually, for once, Jackson doesn’t really have the words to describe it. Jackson only knows what he knows. The hard, cold facts.

He wants to yank Mark’s head back by the scruff of his pretty brown hair, and explicitly explore every single  _goddamn_ inch of Mark’s mouth. He wants to lick across every tooth – he wants to stick his tongue  _so_ far down Mark's throat, that the next person to kiss Mark will find the  _Jackson Was Here_ sign etched into his tonsils. 

Mark has really, really pretty teeth, okay? Jackson knew this early on, of course. Everything about Mark is pretty, duh.

But like, Mark’s  _mouth?_ Have you actually looked? His teeth almost look too big for his face, and certainly  _way_ too sharp. He bites his bottom lip too much, tugging the skin, sometimes peeling it open on accident, and rubbing the skin raw.

They’ve kissed before –  _god_ they’ve kissed – but it’s been soft. Gentle. Slow, Mark setting the pace every time. It’s soooo  _soooo good –_ but Jackson feels like an addict – like a druggie pumped with way too much adrenaline, buzzing behind metal bars. Mark drives him crazy, but Jackson is without a doubt, willingly along for the ride. 

It’s breakfast time, which means eating. That’s cool, yeah. But it also means  _Mark_ is eating, so, you might as well call it Boner Hell. Jackson started wearing jeans to breakfast, because the baggy pajama pants just weren’t cutting it.

He rests his arm on the table, trying to laser-focus on picking up his food with his chopsticks.

Instead, Mark is incredibly distracting, half asleep as he shovels cereal in his mouth. He slurps occasionally, tongue flicking out to lick across his bottom lip, and Jackson has to count to ten.

“So practice ends early today,” Jaebum says, propped up on the kitchen counter. “Anyone doing something fun?”

“Sleep,” Youngjae answers, without skipping a beat. “So much sleep. I’m gonna’ sleep  _sooo_ hard.”

“You fuck the hell out of that sleep, dude,” Bambam points.

“I will,” Youngjae twirls his chopsticks, “just watch me.”

“I said something  _fun,”_ Jaebum stresses. He kicks out, and barely reaches the back of Youngjae’s chair, just enough to jostle him.

“I’m going out with Jungkook,” Yugyeom speaks up. He looks cute, bangs pushed back for once, oversized sweater falling off his broad shoulders.

“Going out? Or  _going out?_ ” Jackson wiggles his eyebrows, and laughs when Yugyeom fakes chucking his glass of juice in Jackson's direction.

“ _Shush!"_

 There’s a foot nudging against his – and it takes Jackson a moment too long to realize that it belongs to Mark.

Jackson meets his eye – and Mark is giving him one of those soft smiles, where his lips are resting in a smooth line, but his eyes are bright and sparkly. Jackson nudges him back, foot pressing into his calf, and it makes Mark smile.

“Well, I’m going to a movie.” Jaebum decides, “Anyone can come with.”

Mark looks up, “Is that a good idea?”

“It’ll be fine.”

“I want to go then,” Bambam raises his hand.

“I’ll go,” Jinyoung nods. 

Jackson chews his food, watching them discuss movie times and travel details that Jackson is too tired to remember. He is relieved however, to see them smile, tired eyes slowly brightening as the morning goes on. Even if it’s just practice ending early, it’s still  _something._

Nobody asks Jackson or Mark if they’re going out – and nobody questions why they decide to stay in.

 

* * *

 

Practice ends soon enough, and they split like a panicked line of worker ants. True to Youngjae’s promise, he walls up in their bedroom, and doesn’t come out.

Mark doesn’t even get a chance to change out of his jeans –

“Here,” Jackson tosses him a pair of basketball shorts.

“Thanks,” Mark nods. Jackson is already kicking off his pants; he feels Mark’s eyes on him – a shameless stare, that makes Jackson warm and tingly. It takes him multiple tugs to get the jeans off completely, eventually peeling them off his calves. 

Mark wiggles into the shorts, “Why’d you even wear those jeans to practice? They’re tighter than hell.”

Jackson opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

 Oh, no reason. Nope, nada- 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Mark winks, disappearing down the hallway. “They make your thighs look like steel.”

“I was gonna’ say-“ Jackson follows after, grinning, “-they  _do_ make my ass look fantastic.”

“Aww,” Mark hovers a hand over his heart, and dramatically falls back onto the couch, “you were trying to impress me?”

“Always,” Jackson follows. He quotes, with a laugh, “You know, I think my arms have gotten bigger.”

Mark rolls his eyes – but he smiles so,  _soo pretty-_

And there’s the teeth. Straight, and white, and sharp. Damn, Mark just,  _has those._ In his  _mouth._ All the  _time._

Jackson squirms on the couch, trying not to think of the way Mark’s tongue runs over his canines.

“So what do you want to do?” Mark asks, relaxing into the couch.

“Well…” Jackson wiggles his eyebrows, “...the kids are all gone.”

“Well…technically…” Mark smirks, tipping his head towards his shared room with Youngjae.

“It’s just  _us,_ ” Jackson scoots closer, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder.

Mark plays along, “Yep.”

“Do you know what that  _means?_ ”

Mark tips his head up, leaning into Jackson’s side. His eyes are sparkly, mouth serious.  “Do tell.”

The tension is there, but not too stuffy. It’s quiet enough to hear their breathing, and the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

Jackson smirks, flirting with the air around them, “We can watch an American movie without subtitles.”

Mark starts laughing, in that high pitched, adorable giggle of his, and Jackson laughs with him.

“Hell yeah,” Mark reaches for the remote. “What are you feeling?”

“Something  _romantic,_ ” Jackson teases, hand coming around to roll up and down Mark’s side. He’s soft, but firm beneath the t-shirt, all solid muscle. Mark has been packing on the protein lately – Jackson sure as hell isn’t complaining. Mark already had a wonderful body, all slim and tall; but now his arms are stronger, thighs firmer, and Jackson just grows weak all over again.

“Gross,” Mark jokes back, tipping his head into Jackson’s breathing space.

Jackson’s eyes immediately fall to Mark’s lips, round and soft, one tooth lightly peaking out against red.

God. 

Jackson tightens his hand around Mark’s waist, throat bobbing as he swallows.

That  _mouth._ He wants Mark to bite him – to nip down his throat and dig hard enough to bruise.

Mark moves, startling Jackson – but he tips his head just barely enough to kiss him, lips warm and unchapped, noses brushing just barely. It’s a soft, barely-open mouthed kiss, long enough to make a noise when they part.

“Hmm,” Jackson purrs, and grins when Mark’s hand comes to squeeze at his thigh. “So, no chick flicks.”

“No chick flicks,” Mark repeats. His eyes are soft, body softer, finally relaxed in the stillness of their dorm. Mark’s hand comes to brush Jackson’s bangs back, leaving Jackson’s forehead to tingle softly where his fingers had lingered.

“How about a Christmas movie?”

“Christmas was two weeks ago.”

“So?” Jackson kisses him again, almost too fast.

Mark chews on the inside of his cheek, and Jackson tries not to think about it, “What did you have in mind?”

The hand on his thigh is warm.

 “Only the best Christmas movie around,” Jackson breathes.  “Die hard.”

Mark laughs again, head falling back, body leaning into Jackson’s side.

“Alright, deal.”

 

* * *

 

Mark draws patterns on his thigh, and Jackson rests his head on Mark’s shoulder halfway through the movie. It gets darker outside, and the room becomes cooler with the passing sun. As the television illuminates the room, Jackson has no regrets stealing kisses here and there, feeling Mark’s cheeks tug and smile beneath his lips.

“I’m trying to watch,” Mark says, almost raspy. It’s amazing how Mark’s voice  _still_ surprises Jackson – shockingly deep, when Mark wants it to be.

“Sorry,” Jackson says, not sorry. He presses another kiss to Mark’s ear, “You’re soft. Didn’t you ever have acne like the rest of the world?”

“I got lucky,” Mark tips his head to meet Jackson’s eye. “Ate like shit too.”

“Bastard,” Jackson teases, stealing a kiss against his lips.

It doesn’t part as quickly as Jackson expected, because Mark kisses him back. A hand comes to rest at the back of his hair, that other still squeezing his thigh.

 _“Mm,_ ” Jackson hums, tipping his head just a little farther. The kiss becomes three, then four, then countless, as they lazily kiss without rhyme or reason. Mark is  _so_ gentle, so patient, going at a pace almost too slow. Jackson breathes in, resisting the urge to fuck open Mark’s mouth with his tongue, and feel those goddamn razors locked behind his lips. Mark has always been a fantastic kisser, which really only adds insult to injury.

Mark’s breathing is too erotic – the hand playing at the back of Jackson's neck is more of a turn on than it should be – but Jackson becomes lost to slow kisses, and the sounds of gunfire on the T.V.

When Mark squeezes his thigh, and presses a soft,  _soft_ kiss to his bottom lip, Jackson has to pull away for his own sanity. He can’t see well in the dark, but Mark’s face is illuminated just enough to see the slight flush running down his neck.

Fuck, the things Jackson would do to him, here on this couch. The things he’d let  _Mark do-_ now that’s an endless list.

But Mark has made the pace of their relationship blatantly clear.  _Slow. Patient._  

So Jackson clears his throat, and studies Mark’s half-lidded expression.

“Pretty,” Jackson coos, running a thumb down his adams apple.

Mark beams, and says in English, “Thank you.”

Jackson laughs, low and breathy, before settling his head back on Mark’s broad shoulder. An arm falls around him, and Jackson counts to ten, trying to quell the heat rushing through him.  

They watch the movie in silence.  At least, they try to. Well, okay. Jackson makes a  _conscious_ effort to keep his trap shut during the dialogue scenes, at least.

 Mark’s breathing is always steady and calm. They’re such a yin and yang – a black and white, sun and moon – but that’s why they work. Mark isn’t always the quiet hyung sitting in the back. He isn’t always the voice of reason – sometimes  _he’s_ the one pulling Jackson down the street, babbling about toast sandwiches and chicken flavored potato chips.

That’s why Jackson adores him. For how amazingly human he is.

The front door flies open, later in the evening, waking the half-asleep bodies on the couch. Loud chatter fills the room, until Youngjae stumbles out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He looks less like an idol, and more like a baby super saiyan, but he manages, “Ya’ made it. How was the movie?”

“Dude, it was so good,” Bambam grins.

Jinyoung shrugs, “It was okay.”

“No, shut up, it was  _so good._ ”

“What’d you think?” Jackson asks, pointedly looking at Jaebum.

The elder nods, “I enjoyed it.”

“The effects were cheap.”

“They were  _cool._  Stop being a party pooper, hyung.”

Jinyoung smiles, obviously speaking just to annoy Bambam, “Nah. It sucked.”

Bambam sputters, looking a bit like those poor dogs tricked into eating a lemon.

They’re all smiles – Jackson and Mark too – listening to Bambam ramble on about rebel spies and space timelines – Jackson tugs a sleepy Mark into his lap, and nobody blinks twice.

They turn on lights, discussing tomorrow's plans- until Yugyeom stumbles into the dorm as well, scarf pulled high up on his neck, hair ruffled from the wind.

“Gyeommie,” Youngjae waves, “You’re back.”

“You’re awake,” Yugyeom retorts, shutting the door behind him.

“How was your bowling date?”

“Fun,” Yugyeom smiles, toeing off his shoes. “We both won a game.”  

Mark squints, from where he’s happily perched on Jackson’s thighs, “Is that a new scarf?”

“This?” Yugyeom looks down, “Uh, no. It’s mine.”

“It’s not that cold out, is it?” Jackson asks, already feeling Mark laugh in his arms. Yugyeom looks  _so_ sheepish – and boy, has Jackson been there, right in his shoes – which makes it all the more hilarious.

“Um…” Yugyeom shifts, “It…It was cold to me.”

Jaebum hides his smile, already catching on. His voice runs serious, in that leader baritone of his, “Yugyeom.”

The youngest slinks into the doorway of the living room, “Yeess?”

“Take off the scarf.”

“I’m going to bed-“

“Gyommie.”

Mark and Jackson are already laughing, Bambam smothering his smile into his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Youngjae blinks, clueless and innocent. “Are you okay?”

Mark laughs harder, right next to Jackson’s ear – thank god for the uproar in the room, because Jackson shivers, terribly obvious.

Yugyeom looks like a cat, frozen in the doorway, ready to bolt. He tries, and fails, to play it cool, “You guys are crazy. I call first dibs on the shower-“

“One.” Jaebum counts.

Yugyeom rolls his eyes, “Hyung. You’re not my dad.”

“Two.”

Jackson grins, “You better listen to him.”

“Seriously? _”_  

“Three-“

Yugyeom, in a knee-jerk reaction, tugs off the scarf at the last number. There’s a plethora of hickies peeking above his collar, round and deep, flicks of color visible in each one.

“Oh my  _gosh!”_ Bambam laughs, head falling back onto the floor.

“Jesus,” Jinyoung curses. “Is Jungkook an octopus?”

“A dog, more like.” Jaebum gestures with his hand, “C’mere.”

Yugyeom groans, head rolling back, before he stomps across the room, “You’re so embarrassing.”

“You’re so  _childish,_ ” Jaebum tugs Yugyeom closer, bringing his neck to his height, where Jaebum leans against the arm of the loveseat. He tips his head, looking at the bruises, “Is it so hard to stay beneath the collar? Jesus fuck.”

“Look, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell Jungkook no.”

Mark snorts, “Obviously.”

“Where the hell did you go?” Jinyoung stalks over, pressing a thumb into one of the bruises. Yugyeom flinches, and Jackson finally gets a good look at the ones beneath his collar.

Instead of laughing, Jackson goes silent. A thick, hot wave of – what? Jealousy? Wow,  _jealousy._ It sweeps Jackson from head to toe; the weight on his lap is suddenly heavier. Is it hot in here?

Jackson studies the markings with a deep, resonating thrum of want.

“Bowling,” Yugyeom pulls back, out of the firm grip of Mom and Dad. “But the parking lot was dead.”

Youngjae sputters, “What if someone  _saw you?”_

“Oh my god, I hope.” Bambam sighs, smiling from the floor, “I can see it now.  _Maknae Couple Takes World By Storm.”_

“Uh,” Jaebum deadpans, “more like  _Maknae Couple Deported from South Korea._  Would it kill you to be a little more careful?”

“Yeah,” Mark adds, an arm flinging around Jackson’s shoulders. He teases, “Why can’t you be more like your hyungs?”

Jackson can only laugh; his mouth is still dry, just from watching the bitemarks shift with Yugyeom’s skin. Damn, what he’d give to look like that. To walk around like a chewed piece of gum. Littered in purple, shiny and proud.

“I don’t want to hear it from either of you,” Yugyeom rolls his eyes. _“’Markson forever’.”_

 “Excuse you,” Jackson coos, throwing a leg around Mark’s hips for show, “we’re adorable.”

“The cutest,” Mark adds.

“Alright, I’ve had enough.” Jaebum stands up, rubbing his eyes, “Sleep time.”

Yugyeom couldn’t be more relieved; he’s gone in seconds, clothes shedding as he wobbles towards the shower. Jackson should feel concerned – but instead he’s more focused on Mark standing up off his lap, and offering a hand.

It takes Jackson a moment to grasp it, head full of too many thoughts.  Jinyoung silently watches, eyes skeptical, as Jackson and Mark meander down  the hall.

 

* * *

 

It’s starting to affect Jackson’s daily life.

Not like,  _terribly –_ but uh, just enough for Jackson to go slowly insane.

It started off as something that Jackson just really really liked about Mark, you know? It was something to the never-ending list of things that made Mark awesome.

But now? Jackson is slowly...slowly descending into this eternal hell of thirst.  For fucks sake, it’s just  _teeth._

Mark's just so happen to be sharper than a fucking knife, goddammit.

So when it’s quiet one evening, bodies sore, the T.V. blaring from the living room, Jackson peeps into Jinyoung’s room. The younger is curled up, one earbud in, a kindle in his hand. Jackson never understood his ability to read and listen to music at the same time, but he’s certainly not going to ask about it.

“Knock knock?”

Jinyoung looks up, “Hm?”

“Heyyyy,” Jackson drawls. “You busy?”

Jinyoung shrugs, “Not really.”

“I need help.” Jackson shuts the door behind him, “Like, life help.”

Jinyoung sets his kindle aside, and sits up in bed. He pats the spot next to him, “Come here, child.”

Jackson ignores the jab, and flops onto the end of Jinyoung's bed, letting out a half-choked groan as he bounces. A hand gently pats his head twice, “What’s up, buddy?”

“Mark’s mouth is ruining my life.”

“Ah.” Jinyoung sits back, “I figured it was Mark related.”

“I’m actually dying, Jinyoung-ah. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. The whole sh'bam.”

Jinyoung snorts, “What’d he say? It’s not like he talks much.”

“No, you see,” Jackson tilts his head to the side, “It’s what he’s not saying. Or doing.”

“And…?”

“I need to know how to say  _‘bite the everloving shit out of me’_ without scaring Mark away forever.”

The array of emotions on Jinyoung’s face would be amusing in any other situation, you know, besides this one. Jackson almost feels embarrassed, until Jinyoung’s roulette wheel of expressions lands of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“Yah.”

Jinyoung rubs his temples pushing up his glasses and mumbling something under his breath. “You’re pathetic.”

“I’m  _suffering._ Have you ever looked at how sharp his teeth are? He could rip out my throat like a vampire.”

Jinyoung rubs his nose, “I mean, yeah. What’s the appeal?”

“I don’t know! They’re just so sharp and pretty,” Jackson sighs. “Like, animalistic. He could fucking ruin me and I’d thank him.”

“If you want to progress your dumb vanilla relationship, just tell him.”

They look to the doorway, where Yugyeom stands, a bag of chips under his arm. He crunches audibly, shoulder up against the door frame. He looks way too comfortable in a situation that Jackson is less than thrilled about.

So Jackson sputters, “Go away! This is adult talk.”

“Oh yeah,  _so_ adult.” Bambam appears, worming around Yugyeom to flop on the bed, “Have you even slept with him yet?”

Jackson scoffs, “Oh yeah, in what free time?”

Jinyoung frowns, “Wait, you really haven’t?”

“Oh my god.” Jackson breathes, "We've done  _stuff_ , it's just-"

“No wayyy,” Yugyeom shuts the door, and leans back up against it, “Seriously? You two haven’t banged?”

“I regret everything,” Jackson moves to sit up. “I’m just going to suffer in silence. “

“Yuh huh,” Bambam cuts him off. “When pigs fly. Why don’tcha just talk to him?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson sighs. “Like, I don’t want to move things faster than he wants, you know?”

“Yeah, totally. Which is cool of you,” Yugyeom gestures, “but you should still bring up your whole…oral fixation.”

"He's going to think I’m a weirdo."

"Everyone already thinks you're a weirdo."

 _“Listen,_ ” Jackson stresses, almost laughing, “you’re not allowed to fuckin’ talk. You walked in here looking like a chew toy last week.”

“And you-“ Yugyeom points with a chip, “-were jealous.”

Jackson shuts his mouth with an audible snap, and Bambam falls into Jinyoung’s lap, crying laughing. 

“I’m curious though,” Jinyoung blinks, hand in Bambam’s dyed hair. “What’s so appealing about it? I hate biting." 

“I couldn’t tell you, man.” Jackson sighs, “I just want him to wad me up and spit me out. His lips are  _sooo soft_ too, damn.”

“Eww gross, I’m leaving,” Bambam gags.

Yugyeom rolls his eyes, “Don’t be a homophobe.”

“Shut up, I’m way gayer than you.”

“You are  _not_ gayer than me.”

“I am!”

“You’re Bi and I’m gay, henceforth, I am _gayer_ than you.”

Jinyoung sighs, “Guys, that’s not how that works-“

“If you _were_ gayer, you’d be getting ass like hyung and I.”

Jackson points, “Don’t drag me into this.”

“Shut up! You’re not allowed to talk shit just because you’ve got Jungkook around to get your dick wet.”

Yugyeom opens his mouth in a sharp, audible gasp, but Jinyoung snaps his fingers, “That’s it, both of you, out.”

“But-“

“Hyung! We were just-“

“Go.” Jinyoung snaps again, kicking Bambam in the butt as he hobbles away.

Jackson sighs, rubbing his forehead with the pads of his fingers. Things could be worse, he tells himself. A lot worse, probably.

“But like-“ Yugyeom says, as he opens the door, “-seriously, just talk to him-“

“Out!”

The door shuts. Their laugher can be heard down the hall, so Jackson steals a pillow just to yell into.

Jinyoung sighs, and sits up to pat Jackson’s head, “I’m sorry about your first world problems.”

“Thanks,” Jackson muffles.

“All I can say, is that I’m sure Mark hyung will listen to you.” Jinyoung smiles, “He may not respond, but he always listens. Especially to you.”

Jackson pauses, face softening just a little. There’s some truth in that – some that makes Jackson’s chest thump warm.

Yeah, yeah. Mark is still his best friend. Nothing can change that.

“If you want, I can keep JB hyung out of your room for a night,” Jinyoung shrugs, already patting around for his kindle again.

Jackson perks up, “No way, really?”

“Mhm. I’ll just make him sleep here.”

Jackson’s eyebrows push together, “How?”

Jinyoung grins, voice turning soft, “ _Oppa, I had a nightmare._ ”

“Oh my god!” Jackson squeals, drawing his knees to his chest and rocking back, “You fuck! You’re never allowed to kinkshame me again!”

Jinyoung laughs, pushing into Jackson’s side with his toes, and lightly nudging him off the bed, “Go away, I’m tired of your face.”

“I love you Jinyoung-ah~” Jackson sings. “You’re the bestest!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You owe me.”

 

* * *

 

Jackson figures he did something in his past life – something to upset the overarching balance of good and evil, or whatever. Maybe he stole something, hurt someone, whatever, he’s paying for it now.

Jackson wants to punch whoever came up with the bright idea to give Mark a lollipop.

It _was_ for a photoshoot, but now as his turn ends, and another begins, Mark sucks on it happily, his head in one hand, elbow propped up on the nearby table.

It shouldn’t be so attractive, but god, is it ever. His tongue flicks out occasionally, completely naive to how downright _filthy_ it looks. His bottom lip is stained a faint blue, but his tongue is still red, rolling up one side, then falling back into his mouth.

Jackson knows he’s staring, okay, but he can’t _stop._ Mark decides to suck the lollipop into the skin of his cheek, and there’s the faint sound of the candy being lightly crunched on. Ahhh goddammit. God, dammit. God fucking dammit.

Mark’s throat works as he swallows, which does all _kinds_ of things to Jackson -  fuck.

There’s a hand at his back, and a mumbled voice by his ear, “Cool it, horndog. We’ve got a shoot to finish.”

Jackson startles, and turns to sheepishly look Jaebum in the eye. Jaebum looks way too smug; he’s trying to come off as ‘cool’ and ‘collected’, but Jackson knows his self-righteous smirk better than anyone.

“Fuck off,” Jackson laughs. 

“You two have issues to work out,” Jaebum pats his shoulder, pulling away, “I don’t wanna’ know how, or why. Just fix it.”

Jackson sighs, “It’s just me, sorry.”

Jaebum’s eyebrow arches, “ _Just_ you? Yeah, right.”

“Huh?”

“Last week at the fanmeet, when the MC made you do a _‘sexy dance’_ or whatever, I had to stand in front of Mark hyung because he was physically drooling.”

An incredulous look falls on Jackson’s face, before he grins like the cat who ate the canary, “Really?”

Jaebum rolls his eyes so hard, that it looks kinda' painful. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and deadpans, “You both wear your hearts on your sleeves.”

Jackson grins, taking the opportunity to tease, “Hey, we can’t help that we’re _so_ into each other.”

Jaebum gives him a warning look, saying, “Careful,” before walking away.

The whole exchange leaves Jackson feeling a little off. When Jaebum is out of view, Jackson sighs, rubbing behind his neck, and tugging at the mesh shirt they’ve put him in. When he looks back to Mark, he finds the elder already watching him, which just about gives Jackson a heart attack and a half.

But Mark smiles, peeking out his now-blue tongue, and Jackson resists the intensive need to smother Mark's mouth with his own. 

 

* * *

 

True to Jinyoung’s promise, come the weekend, Jaebum doesn’t sleep in their room.  

The orange lamp in the corner of the bedroom casts a low light, just enough to see basic shapes. Per ritual, Mark comes waddling in, oversized t-shirt, basketball shorts and all. Mark used to wear these really cute fluffy pajama pants – but Jackson is a human furnace, so Mark has no need for long pants anymore. Ah, but alas, now Jackson gets to see more of his longass legs, so, it’s a win-win for everyone here.

But uh, right, yeah, Mark comes in like usual. He’s running a hand through his hair, and clutching his phone in the other.

“Ayo.”

“Hiya,” Jackson nods, looking above his phone screen. He’s propped up by all the pillows he has, legs stretched out in front of him. Mark climbs in, easily settling his head on Jackson’s shoulder, and clicking on his phone.

“Where’s JB?”

“Jinyoung’s room.”

Mark snorts, “Oh yeah?”

Jackson shrugs, not trusting himself to speak, so Mark hums, and falls quiet. He’s tapping at his phone just enough to make Jackson curious – he glances down, and smiles, “Aww cute.”

“For Instagram,” Mark clarifies, flipping through different selcas.

“I like that one.”

“Eh.”

“What, isn’t my opinion important?”

“Not really,” Mark teases, and laughs when Jackson jostles his shoulder.

“Fine then~. I guess I’ll just go _sleep on the couch-“_ Jackson sighs, “-since I don’t _matter-“_

“You’re such a drama llama,” Mark says, tipping his head to peck the corner of Jackson’s mouth. Jackson laughs; he glances back down at his phone, and gasps,

“Ooh! This ones’ cute,” Jackson steals the phone. “Is that my hat?”

 _“No!”_ Mark wrestles the phone back, “No.”

“It totally is!”

“Fuck off, it’s not.”

“Post it, post it, post it,” Jackson chants, wiggling his fingers into Mark’s side. “Please, please-“

“No!” Mark squirms, trying to fight off a smile. “It’s ug-ahah- ugly-“

“It’s not!” Jackson beams. “Pleeease post it! I want everyone to secretly know you’re mine.”

“Secretly,” Mark deadpans. “If you were trying to be discreet, you kinda’ blew it on ASC a long time ago.”

“Listen, Eric plays that shit up,” Jackson grins. “They all think it’s for show.”

“Markson or never?” Mark quotes, with a smirk.

“Yah!”

“Whatever,” Mark turns back to his phone. “Not posting it.”

“Aww…well…” Jackson tips his head, to bonk it against Mark’s, “At least send it to me?”

 “I’ll think about it,” Mark smiles, toothy and seductive, and Jackson just…feels his whole world turn upside down.

Mark goes back to tapping at his phone, and Jackson finds himself staring at the wall.

As much as he jokes. As much as he teases.

It’s still so risky.

There’s _so_ much at stake.

Their careers – their friends, their family.

But Mark makes a little breathy noise, a soft, gentle sigh, reaching over to run his fingers up and down the expanse of Jackson’s thigh – and something small, akin to a voice, tells Jackson that it’ll be worth the risk.

He remembers an interview – ha- _‘interview’-_ scratch that, actually. It was an impromptu joke, where Mark and Jackson sat on the stairs backstage, passing a jean jacket back and forth like a microphone, babbling dumb questions.

They weren’t together then. Jackson remembers edging closer, pushing the wadded up jacket to Mark’s face and asking _what’s your ideal type?_

 _“A girl,”_ Mark had answered, sinking something in Jackson’s stomach.

_“Yeah?”_

_“She has to have hair,”_ Mark joked, and Jackson had rolled with it, bantering back, trying to ignore the twist in his chest.

It’d all been a joke, sort of, not really.

“Jackson,” Mark says, suddenly, for the third time.

“Huh?” He looks down.

“Were you asleep?”

“No, no.” Jackson flings an arm around Mark’s shoulders, and answers in English, “Jus’ thinking.”

“Okay, well,” Mark shifts, “I said that I posted it, so.”

“What?”

“My picture,” Mark pushes against him, not meeting his eye, “You have to go like it.”

Jackson blinks once, twice, a little confused. It’s not like Mark to be like that – to draw attention to himself, and ask for something as petty as a like on Instagram.

But Jackson watches him fidget with the buttons on the side of his phone, eyes flickering to different spots of the room – and Jackson thinks _ahh, I get it._

Jackson is flattered, honestly, that Mark would even attempt to start a conversation. Sometimes Mark is an awkward noodle, and it’s something Jackson adores about him.

“Sure thing babe,” Jackson beams, opening his phone. “I’m gonna like the _fuck_ out of that picture. Imma comment too.”

“Wait, no-“ Mark laughs, sitting up higher, the mood lifting.

“Imma’ do it,” Jackson grins. He taps the picture, and spells out in the comments, speaking aloud, _“WOW SO sEXY LMAO-_ “

“Don’t!” Mark grabs for the phone, but he’s giggling, and making Jackson’s heart take a nosedive off his chest.

“But you’re so pretty!”

“Why are you so extra?” Mark laughs. He’s closer now, still making grabby hands towards Jackson’s phone – but the world comes to a stop. Jackson is drawn, suddenly, to the lips lightly parted in effort, hovering less than a foot away. Mark bites his bottom lip, eyes turning to meet Jackson’s, and that’s when he knows he’s lost.  

Mark initiates the kiss, the soft contact making Jackson startle, just barely. Easily, he brings a hand up to rest at the back of Mark’s neck, eyes falling closed, air exhaling from his nose.

Mark’s lips softly move against his own, slow and tedious. It’s terribly romantic, almost too sweet. Jackson melts melts _melts –_ pathetically, into the pillows braced against the headboard. He tastes like Mark and toothpaste, but mostly Mark; it’s indescribable, something human and real.

A hand braces against his bicep; long fingers wrap around the muscle, before slowly trailing up the expanse of his arm. Those fingers grip his wrist –

Their lips part with a soundless exhale, and they’re close enough for Jackson to feel Mark’s grin. The hand around his wrist moves, the warmth leaving with it.

“Got it,” Mark says, voice raspy. He holds up Jackson’s phone, but Jackson has already forgotten why he was keeping it away from Mark in the first place.

All he can think about _is_ Mark, and how he’s slightly towering over him, one knee slowly wormed between Jackson’s own, to straddle his thigh.

The phone is dropped, suddenly, onto the bedside table, before they’re kissing again.

The bedroom is silent, except for the occasional soft smack of their lips. They giggle each time, the sound almost humorous. Jackson still has a hand braced at the back of Mark’s neck, fingers gently brushing the hair there – but Mark brings a hand to Jackson’s cheek, eventually settling it right beneath his jaw, tipping Jackson’s head to deepen the kiss further. They move so well together – like a unit, a team. Kissing your best friend is fun like that.

It’s warm.

“Hah,” Jackson exhales, when they part once again. He smiles, “You kiss like an American.”

Mark frowns, thumb running along Jackson’s jawline, “How many Americans have you kissed?”

“Just one,” Jackson bumps their noses together, “but I assume most Americans would kiss like this.”

“And how’s that _?_ ” Mark humors him, breath ghosting across Jackson’s lips. Jackson opens his mouth to retort, but Mark does that _thing-_ the _thing thing,_ where he nibbles on his bottom lip, before briefly sticking out his tongue to soothe the wound – and Jackson’s train of thought flies out the window.

“Um,” Jackson brings a hand to Mark’s hip, “good.”

Mark snorts, momentarily rolling his eyes, before leaning back in to kiss him again, “You’re not bad yourself.”

Jackson speaks between breaths, _“Not-bad?_ ” He licks across Mark’s bottom lip, and feels the elder smile, “I’m fantastic.”

The look Mark gives him is downright evil – and Jackson can feel the moment, right here. He can feel something shift in the air, like it only has a few times before.

Mark brushes two words against the corner of his lips, low, in that grainy tone he rarely uses.

 _“Prove it._ ”

So Jackson does, gripping Mark’s short hair between his fingers and pulling, slotting their mouths together much harder than before. He kisses wetly, his lips already tingling, body running warm with the desire to take and _take-_

But Mark isn’t just one to be pliant. He is, undoubtedly, a _man._ No damsel, no cliché.

He sparks to life, right atop Jackson, gripping his chin and pushing back just as hard.

And Jackson holds the fuck on, pressing Mark impossibly close, and getting lost in the feeling. He’s swept away, washed down a river, drowned, even, by how good and fast and wet Mark kisses back. The world just seems to – ebb away.

When Mark slicks his tongue past Jackson’s lips, the younger digs his nails into the skin of Mark’s hip, and swallows a moan. He maps out Jackson’s mouth, exerting a dominance that Jackson could only have dreamed for.

He keeps up well enough, rubbing his tongue along Mark’s, feeling spit roll past his bottom lip- it’s suddenly erotic, the whole kissing thing. It’s interesting, how something can be so innocent, then hot, and fast the next second.

Jackson wants wants _wants_ to stick his tongue down Mark’s throat – to trace all those sharp teeth – but Mark is more practiced, more controlling, more insistent on being the one to control the kiss. And uh, Jackson’s not really complaining.

Mark is breathing heavy, and his left hand comes to brace on Jackson’s chest, long fingers splayed across muscle. The grip on Jackson’s jaw lessons, if only for Mark to run his thumb down Jackson’s adams apple, and feel it move as Jackson swallows.

“God,” Mark curses, and it goes _straight_ between Jackson’s legs.

Jackson pulls back, _barely,_ just to suck in a breath, but Mark follows the movement. He licks the spit crawling down Jackson’s chin, before sucking on Jackson’s bottom lip and _ah_ god, ah, _fuck-_

Mark’s canine accidentally catches on Jackson’s lip, nipping the skin, and immediately drawing blood.

Jackson, in a complete knee-jerk reaction, moans like a whore.

Shit.

Mark pulls away with a gasp, and he must assume that it hurt, because he babbles, “Ah, Jackson. I-I’m sorry-“

If he’s saying anything important, Jackson sure as hell doesn’t hear it. Blood rushes past his ears, the world around him narrowing down to just the dull throb on his bottom lip. He stares, burning holes into Mark’s face, staring incredulously.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, almost timid. His cheeks are flushed. That’s a good look for him. But to answer his question, no, Jackson is _not_ okay, thanks.

Mark brings his thumb up to Jackson’s lip, brushing away the blood – and Jackson flicks out his tongue, catching his finger.  

“Um,” Jackson blinks. He should say something, probably. His brain is just the dull static from those old walkie talkies. Also, the Meow Mix jingle, because his life is a fucking train wreck.

“I’m sorry,” Mark sighs. “I have sharp teeth. I’m kinda’ self-conscious about it.”

“Yeah?” Jackson manages, and it sounds _terrible._ It’s forced and gravelly, and it makes Mark arch an eyebrow. The elder shifts the leg he has positioned oh-so politely between Jackson’s thighs, moving to pull away, probably – but Mark halts, eyes opening wide, when Jackson involuntarily shudders.

 _“Hn-,_ ” Jackson breathes, tongue flicking out against the wound on his lower lip. He’d be embarrassed, probably, if he wasn’t so turned on.

Mark’s face is blank, until he blinks twice;  his lips turn into a smirk that the devil himself would be proud of.

“Ohh,” Mark hums, finding leverage on Jackson’s shoulder, so he can press his knee against Jackson’s crotch. “Did you like that?”

Jackson makes a choked noise, and he brings a hand up to the cut on his lip.

“Sorry,” Jackson exhales, hand falling away from Mark’s hair. “I, um.”

In an experiment, Mark studies Jackson’s face, as he licks across his own front teeth – and as expected, Jackson’s eyes squeeze shut, and his throat swallows around cotton.

Mark smiles impossibly wide, “Oh, this is too good.”

“I’m weird, I’m sorry,” Jackson babbles. “You can walk away and I won’t judge, I promise. We can just like, forget this all-all happened, yeah-“

But Mark’s hand comes back to his jaw, tracing beneath his chin, and running down the line of his throat. Jackson stares, nervously frozen where he lays, one knee drawn up, a hand barely braced on Mark’s side.

Mark effortlessly throws one of his long-ass legs over Jackson’s hip, straddling his lap, and turning Jackson on all over again.

He hums, calm like usual, “You know, sometimes I think we’re just made for each other.”

“Huh?” Jackson blurts, stupidly.

Mark only grins, before his hand tangles in the back of Jackson's hair, and yanks his head to the side, bearing the skin of his neck. Jackson inhales, preparing a protest, before Mark latches onto the skin right at the low swell of his neck, and bites.

The sound Jackson makes is inhumane. His hips roll up, and he runs his hands down to squeeze Mark’s thigh.

Mark’s teeth pierce the skin, not hard enough to bleed, but enough to feel the sting. He sucks hard, inhaling with it, and Jackson about loses his goddamn mind.

 _“Ahh,_ ” Jackson winces, cock actually fucking throbbing.  

Mark’s tongue laves over the wound, way too hot, searing the skin. It’s trembling, warm, way too much and not enough. The mark is sensitive – enough that Jackson can feel his breath ghosting across it.

“I’m a biter,” Mark says, like that explains everything. He digs his fingers into Jackson’s tank top and yanks, pulling the fabric down, and latching onto the unmarked spot right above his collarbone.

“Haaah,” Jackson downright moans, hips jerking up again, as Mark bites and sucks and does _things_ good god, so many good things. “F-fuck-“

Mark meets his hips this time, and Jackson learns that yeah, Mark is hard too.

He speaks against Jackson’s collarbone, fingers playing with the new hickey there, “There’s just something about you… you make me want to chew you up.”

“God, please,” Jackson sighs. “If I had a dollar for every boner your mouth has given me in the past month, I’d be a millionaire.”

Mark has the gall to fucking giggle, hand tugging the tank-top down more, lips coming to the tip of his sternum. He nips at the sensitive skin, canines sharp, tongue wet, and Jackson’s brain short circuits.

He doesn’t realize that his hips have built up a rhythm, until Mark full on moans into his shoulder; and just like magic, Jackson’s body shocks awake, with the sudden desire to take.

He didn’t think Mark could _make_ noises like that, but here he is, softly exhaling into Jackson’s bared shoulder, dick tenting in those old basketball shorts.

Jackson rolls them easily, pressing Mark into the mattress, resting his forehead against Mark’s shoulder and grinding their hips together in a firm, rough press. The friction on his cock is a fucking _godsent,_ and they both let out breathy noises.

“Jackson,” Mark exhales, a hand coming up to fist at Jackson’s shirt. _“Ah,_ Jackson-“

“Don’t.”  Jackson rolls his hips again, “Don’t say my name like that. I’ll never- I’ll never be able to hear my name again.”

Mark grins, fluid hips grinding up. He purrs, _“Jackson, Jackson.”_

 _“Fuck,_ ” Jackson spits, and sits up enough to kiss Mark deep and sloppy.

But Mark does that thing, the _thing,_ where he sucks on Jackson’s lower lip, and grazes his teeth against Jackson’s tongue, and just….turns Jackson into complete putty.

Mark growls, “Shirt off.”

“As you command,” Jackson teases, sitting up and rolling off the tank top.

“Pants too,” Mark nods, taking off his own shirt. Jackson kicks away the pajama pants fast enough, now just in mango-colored boxer briefs.

He takes one look at Mark, shirtless now, hair splayed beneath him, and loses all the air in his lungs. Fuckin’ hell, he looks good – beefier too, good lord.

Mark is staring at him, so Jackson chokes out a joke, “Am I presentable?” He gestures to himself, flexing a little for good measure. Jackson expects an eyeroll, or no response, really – but he’s surprised to see Mark bite his lip, eyes burning from the top of Jackson’s collar, to his happy trail.

“God, yes,” Mark mumbles, “come here.”

And there’s something about his tone that Jackson just can’t deny, so he kneels between Mark’s thighs, and kisses the life out of him.

Mark’s hands won’t stop moving, nails scraping up and down his chest, rolling down his back, squeezing at his shoulders. Every movement makes Jackson shutter, each hip roll, every kiss. Jackson can feel how hard Mark is, and he can’t stop thinking about how _he_ did that-

Mark’s palm rolls against his crotch, right has he decides to bite Jackson’s earlobe, and Jackson just about fucking comes on the spot.

 _“Fuck!”_ Jackson barks, shying away, body trembling. He’s shaking, with the effort of holding back, and not blowing it in his fucking boxers.

“Wow,” Mark breathes against his ear. His fingers squeeze around the outline of Jackson’s erection, and the latter chokes. “You’re sensitive.”

“N-Not, really-“ Jackson huffs, “-y-you’re just- _ah! Shit!_ ” Jackson tips his head away, “Careful, or I won’t make it.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Mark exhales – which gains Jackson’s attention real fucking fast. His lips are round and kissed slick, red and puffy; his pupils are dilated with arousal, hair messy, and he’s never looked more beautiful. Mark brings a hand up into Jackson’s hair, and pulls until they’re kissing again, going nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Yer’ gonna’ kill me,” Jackson manages.

Mark laughs, “I’d love to fuck you, actually.”

Jackson perks up, blinking, “R-really?”

“Yeah,” Mark breathes, fingers playing with his hair quite gently. “I can’t though. Won’t make it real far.”

Jackson’s eyes automatically fall between Mark’s thighs – and there’s a wet spot, right at the front of his boxers. Jackson swallows a groan, already feeling sweat roll down his neck from how _hot_ this all is.

“I um,” Jackson shifts, “I uh, thought you wanted to take things slow.”

“For your sake. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. Especially since…”

“Since I’ve never dated a guy,” Jackson finishes.

Mark blinks, looking away, “Yeah.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Jackson says, making Mark furrow his eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“Well,” Jackson shrugs, “that means I can do this.”

Mark opens his mouth, but all that exhales is a sharp groan, as Jackson slinks down his body, and rolls his tongue along the outline of Mark’s cock through his boxers. The hand in his hair fists harder, and Jackson has to count his breaths. Why that’s a turn on? Jackson will never know.

He sucks hard through the fabric, wetting it further, and drawing more choked noises from Mark’s throat. Jackson grins, pulling down the fabric just a little, to lick across the head of his cock, where it’s swollen against Mark’s navel.

He’s just teasing, really, but already Mark is squirming, thighs tensing.

“Fuck, fuck,” Mark shivers, “Jackson, I can’t-“

Jackson sucks down, just a few inches, but he’s urged off by Mark’s insistent whining,

 _“Gaga,_ Jackson no- no I wanna’ – Jackson roll over-“

He pulls back with a pout, looking up at Mark with puppy eyes. He whines in English, “Aww man, I want to suck your dick so bad though.”

The look in Mark’s eyes is nothing shy of predatorial.

“Please,” Mark urges him. “I finally have you like this, I’m not wasting it.”

There’s a rumble in his tone that makes Jackson want to keel over – so he does, rolling onto his back, and letting Mark shuck away his last article of clothing. Jackson feels self-conscious for, I dunno, maybe half a second, before Mark looks he got his cake and ate it too.

“Yesss,” Mark purrs, breathy, sitting up on his knees, eyes scanning him up and down. 

“You’re a freak,” Jackson teases, setting into the pillows. “I thought I was weird.”

“Oh, you are,” Mark runs his hands up Jackson’s thighs. “But that’s the best part about you.”

Jackson opens his mouth to argue, before there’s a mouth digging into the meat of his thigh, and Jackson about sees stars.

Mark is a whirlwind – biting, sucking, licking across skin and nipping at the divot of his hip. He maneuvers Jackson's limbs, plays him like a puppet. Jackson can only squirm – he bites into his knuckles, trying to remember that _yeah,_ it’s almost midnight, and other people kinda’ live here too.

“One day,” Mark mumbles, “we’re going fuck some place where we don’t have to worry about noise.”

“Good,” Jackson rasps. “I wanna’ hear you scream.”

Mark smirks against his navel, before scraping his teeth along tanlines, and sucking hard once more. Jackson groans into his fist, cock physically leaking.

Jackson must look like a fucking Van Gogh painting at this point, but he’s not sure if he cares.

He’s so hard, he thinks, harder than he’s been in a long time. Sometimes Mark’s breath ghosts across his cock – other times his lips, his _teeth –_ Jackson arches up, almost begging, hair smothering in the sheets.

He’s taken to begging, _“Mark, Mark.”_

“Baby,” Mark says, into his thigh. “You look good like this.”

 _Fu cK –_ fuck, okay, okay- that’s uh, _that’s-_

“Hyung, I’m close,” Jackson admits, air suddenly thin. The room has never been _this_ hot – that lamp feels like the sun, making sweat glisten.

Mark doesn’t look any better, hair pushed back, body heaving like this whole situation is affecting him just as much as Jackson. He’s so fucking pretty, always, always.

“Come here,” Jackson makes grabby hands. “I wan’ kiss ya’.”

Mark blinks, before he smiles, crawling up Jackson’s body to grant his wish. Jackson is talented as fuck, because with one hand he manages to push down Mark’s boxers, and pat around for lotion in the bedside drawer.

Mark nips at his tongue, sucks at his lips-

When Jackson gets a slick hand around them both, they simultaneously groan, like, way too loud.

It doesn’t last long; hands tangle in hair, lips suck and press and move with spit. Jackson’s hand works around them in a barely-there rhythm, but it’s enough for Mark to keen, mouth hanging open as his body convulses.

He spills between them both, and across Jackson’s hand, rasping his name like a prayer. Jackson’s name has never sounded more melodic, than from those kissed-red lips, ghosting past razor teeth and a sharper tongue.

The look on Mark’s face is just enough for Jackson; he arches up, biting his cheek, eyes squeezing shut. He feels it in his gut first, before his thighs tingle, and his cock jumps between their slick bodies. He feels every convulsion, every wave. Mark kisses him through it, his hand swatting away Jackson’s, and pumping him fast and skilled.

Jackson doesn’t realize that he has drawn up his legs, knees hooked by Mark’s hips, thighs squeezing hard, until the aftershocks ebb away. He lowers his toes back onto the bed, and blinks away the specks of white.

Jackson's body pulses duly - he's suddenly aware of every sting, every lovebite.

Mark is on top of him, breathing heavy, drawing gentle circles on the inside of his wrist. It’s agonizingly silent, so Jackson mumbles.

“You’re like, perfect.”  

Mark smiles against his collar, “Nah, you.”

“Hey, I’m the sappy one here,” Jackson teases, running a clean hand through Mark’s hair. He pushes back his bangs, “You straight up killed me though.”

Mark sits up, looking down at Jackson’s body like a canvas. He looks so damn proud, and it makes Jackson want to sing.

As Mark wipes them down, he trails the tissue across each hickey, slow, as a reminder. Jackson watches, breathless, wordless for once.

“I hope…” Mark mumbles, in English, as he trails his thumb across once of the hickies on Jackson’s thigh.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what was it?”

“I hope I get to keep you,” Mark says, chucking the tissues, turning off the lamp, and crawling up beside him in the bed. The room cools, slowly.

But Jackson squeaks, rolling over to crush Mark beneath him, “Always! You’re stuck with me, baby. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, good luck shipping me back to Hong Kong.”

Mark laughs, high pitched, and hushed in the darkness.

“Good. Have fun with those hickies tomorrow.”

“Marks from Mark~” Jackson pulls him tight to his chest, their bodies molding together oh-so perfectly.

Mark duly thumps his forehead – and they both giggle, tired but undoubtedly happy.

“We’re going to fuck later though, right?”

“Oh yeah. I saw the room assignments for the States. We’re golden.”

 _“Sweet!”_ Jackson whispers, right into Mark’s cheek, and feels lips kiss his own.

 

* * *

 

Jackson never really thought out the consequences. 

The bruises didn’t look _that bad,_ until, you know, he went out into daylight. Damn sun.

When he stumbles in on breakfast, pushing up his shirt to sleepily scrub at his stomach, the room goes still. A spatula tumbles to the ground, and the T.V. from the living room becomes audible.

“G’mornin’,” Jackson yawns, fumbling for the coffee pot.

Nobody says anything, as Jackson reaches for a mug, and blindly pats around for creamer.

“Good god man…” Bambam breathes, setting his fork back down.

“Sleep good last night?” Jinyoung prods, wearily.

“Huh?” Jackson blinks, “Yeah.”

Everyone is pointedly looking at Mark, who sips his coffee without batting an eyelash. Yugyeom is the only one grinning, trying not to laugh as he shovels in food.

“You’ve got issues,” Jaebum says, to Mark, who only shrugs in retaliation.

It takes a moment for Jackson’s brain to piece two and two together, before he looks down at himself. He waddles over to the mirror hanging near the entryway and – okay, yeah.

He pulls up his shirt, and marvels at the littering of purple marks spread down his chest. They slip around his hips, and beneath the band of his underwear. There’s some around his ass too – he doesn’t even _remember_ those.

“Woah!” Jackson beams, turning and twisting to see them better, “These look awesome.”

Jaebum presses his face into his hands, exhaling hard, as the others finally laugh.

“Holy hell,” Bambam sniffs, “you got what you wanted.”

“He’s got some fucking sharp teeth,” Jackson lowers his shirt. “Show ‘em, babe.”

Mark immediately bares his teeth, snapping them adorably, attracting Youngjae’s attention.

“Woahhh,” Youngjae marvels. “You’re like Sharkboy.”

“You can’t go out like that,” Jinyoung stares, watching Jackson go back to making coffee.

“Yeah, the makeup noonas are going to have a cow.” 

Jackson shrugs, “I can wear jeans.”

“You have….“ Jinyoung trails off, before he sighs, and pushes up his glasses. “…You know what? Don’t tell me. I’m talking about your chest, dickhead.”

“I won’t show off my abs for a few days then,” Jackson blows at his mug, and leans up against the counter.

Yugyeom rolls his eyes, “Yeah right, okay.”

“What? I’m not _that_ self-centered.”

“Okay hyung. Whatever you say.”

“How come _you_ have nothing to say about this,” Jaebum looks to Mark.

Mark shrugs, “An artist shouldn’t be ashamed of their work.”

Youngjae, Bambam and Yugyeom burst out laughing, heads whipping back, arms grabbing at their sides. Jackson feels his face heat, just a little, so he hides it behind his mug.

“I need to go lie down,” Jinyoung says, walking away. “Wake me up when it’s time to leave.”

The maknaes are cackling now, snorting, super ugly but oddly endearing. Mark looks completely unaffected, except for the glint in his eye. Jackson shoots him a smile, and Mark gives him one back.

“Living in this dorm has aged me like, ten years,” Jaebum sighs.

“Chill, dude. We all know you and Jinyoung are into some weird shit-“

 _“Bambam,_ ” Jaebum barks, creating a whole new wave of laughter at the table.

“Hey!” Bambam shields himself from the onslaught of shoulder hits, “I’m not judging dude!”

“Yeah, right-“

“Bammie, has a death wish~”  

“I’m serious! You know my motto!”

“ _Dab everyday’?”_

“No no, my _other_ motto. ‘ _Let he who is without kink cast the first shame’_ -“

“I actually hate you.”  

There’s more laughter, and soon enough, the topic of last night is long, long forgotten. As Jackson wakes up, fully, the caffeine sparking in his system, he grows to appreciate this weird family he has.

When he sits at the table, Mark sleepily pats his thigh – Youngjae makes him pancakes, Yugyeom does the dishes, and the dorm feels a little bit more like a home.

 

* * *

 

“So what else aren’t you telling me?”

“Hm?” Jackson turns in his seat, pulling out one of his earbuds.

“What else are you hiding?” Mark asks, playing with each individual fingertip of Jackson’s left hand. It's cute. 

“You’re going to have to be specific, sweetheart.”

Mark gives him an unamused look at the nickname, before he looks back to Jackson’s hand. The space around them is loud, the jet engines rumbling, Yugyeom and Bambam cracking up a storm in the back. 

Mark thumbs across Jackson’s hand once more, before lifting it to his lips, and lightly nibbling on one of his knuckles, “You know.”

Jackson inhales, tensing, “Oh.”

His teeth rake across skin, bringing a sting that makes Jackson shiver. Mark smirks around his finger, tongue smoothing across the burn. “So?”

“I’m not going to lay out my kink-list on an airplane,” Jackson jokes.

Mark frowns, “Why not?”

Jackson glares, even when Mark giggles.

“I’m just curious,” Mark bonks his head against the side of Jackson’s playfully.

“You’ll just have to wait and find out then, huh?” Jackson winks, and earns a shove for it. “Hey!”

“Come on Gaga,” Mark urges, eyes way too pretty, teeth playing with his bottom lip. “Just tell me one.”

“How about this, then.” Jackson flips Mark’s hand over, and tangles their fingers together. “You first.”

Mark thinks it over; Jackson sees it on his face. His eyes flicker around the plane – to Youngjae across the isle, to Jinyoung up ahead. Mark’s upper lip twitches, before he agrees, “Fine.”

Jackson didn’t expect a yes – but he’s pleasantly surprised.

Those long fingers squeeze, and Jackson squeezes back. Mark shifts closer in the seat, pushing up the armrest, and folding their hands into Jackson’s lap.

He’s closer now, mouth leaning close to Jackson’s ear, ready to whisper a secret. It's tense- 

But teeth close around the shell of his ear, and Jackson nearly bites through his tongue, moan dying in his throat.

“ _Mark!”_ Jackson panics, squirming.

Mark giggles, kissing his ear as an apology, “Sorry, sorry.”

He shifts, free hand coming to cradle the back of Jackson’s head, breath warm.

And he says.

**Author's Note:**

> i ended up posting this bc i put actual effort into it lmao 
> 
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> 
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> 
> [@zanimez](http://zanimez.tumblr.com/)


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